


Seaglass

by writehandman



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, It's a vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writehandman/pseuds/writehandman





	Seaglass

Bachlevion, my papa used to tell me, is the name of an angel. An angel who is watching you right now, guiding and protecting you like his own. Mama used to call me angel, as we would take our walks along the rickety and slowly eroding and crumbling coastline. Be careful angel, she’d say, when my tiny feet, no bigger than an oyster would dig into the cold, damp sand as I waddled too close to the beckoning waves. Mama would pick me up and hold me on her hip, sundress crinkling under my weight, coral lipstick matching the sea stars we would put back in the tide pools. You’re rescuing them, she laughed, putting them back where they’ll be safe at home. We used to sit there for hours, watching the pelicans dance with the gulls in the sky, the waves crashing against the temporary islands brought on by the tide. The angel of the depths, she murmured to herself. She never thought I heard it, but I did.

Then Mama started getting sick. Papa said it was pneumonia, too much saltwater. Mama laughed at him, like a windchime being pushed by a northern gust, coral lips still in place. No no, love, I’m a friend of the ocean, it would never hurt me. But it did, mama grew frailer, the stew

grew thinner, and as she grew weaker, the sandwiches and stories stopped. Papa turned to the cabinet tucked behind the chipped oak desk, and pulled out his best friend. Just because the whiskey ruins your liver son, don’t mean that it’s not medicine. Placing it to his lips and looking out the window at the swelling and raging sea, he tipped back the burning amber.

She would call to me, as she lay there, knit covers and mismatched quilts pulled up to her chin. Angel, would you bring me a shell from the beach? I miss the ocean. And I would, walking on unsteady and rapidly growing legs to find one. Bring me something pretty Angel, She asked me, lips unpainted and twitching up into a tired smile as she stayed propped up on her pillows to keep the mucus out of her lungs.

So I would walk, already taller than both her and Papa, to find her a smooth piece of seaglass. It looks like the ocean She said in awe, holding it up and admiring the blue shadows it cast. I’d like more of this, Angel.

And so it went, the ocean giving me small gifts from its magical depths, while Mama slowly lost her share of the magic. I must’ve brought her enough seaglass to fill a cathedral window, in blues, greens, browns, and amber, I could have created His archangels image in their righteous fury. And every night I prayed to God and His angels that the Sea would give her back her strength.

Angel, Bachlevion, My Ocean, you’ve grown so much. Stay friends with the Sea for me. Tell it that all is forgiven. Hand shaking with the effort it took to lift it, skin draped perilously on the bones, she placed a piece of twine, tied with a double knot at the top, into my hand, the first piece of seaglass I’d brought her strung on. Be strong Angel. You’re all grown.


End file.
